


the kettering

by marinoxx



Category: Free!
Genre: CC please, Gen, Hospital Setting, M/M, Other, haru is....trying, i dont know why i did this, makoto is doing his best, minor to moderate reminiscing, sad probably, what else do i tag???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 21:46:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4538559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinoxx/pseuds/marinoxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you doing in here?”</p><p>	“I was just changing the tubing for your IV,” Makoto said, twisting his hands in the hem of his green scrubs. Nearly everything in this hospital was green or gentle yellow; color theory claimed it had a calming effect. “Oh, and I... I brought you your lunch.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> This (was) a oneshot based pretty much entirely on the album Hospice by the Antlers-- here's the [full, chronological album](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSi_FE52TAY) and [the lyrics](http://antlersmusic.com/lyrics/hospice/) if you haven't heard it, and would like to know the entire plot.
> 
> Update 10/4/15: My previous note still kind of stands, and it's been like two months, but I just wrote half of another chapter, so it looks like there will be at least one more part, for those who were asking.

            Makoto quietly adjusted the picture framed on the bedside table as he removed the wilting blossoms from Rei’s gifted glass vase. It wasn’t so old, this photo; Nagisa had snapped it with a disposable camera on an outing the five of them had taken at the beach. Haru was kissing him, sunburned and surprised, the moment immortalized behind the glass. A happy memory. Makoto cleaned away a fingerprint before turning to Haru, the rainstorm quietly sleeping in the bed beside him. 

            Haru’s hair still retained that glossy luster reflected in the photograph despite the pallor in his skin and the dark crescents resting below his eyes. Makoto made to tuck Haru’s hair away from his forehead, hesitating an inch from his face. Haru’s blue eyes fluttered open and he swiftly snatched his fingers away. Haru smiled, the discordant beeping of his heart rate monitor growing irregular.

            “What are you doing in here?”

            “I was just changing the tubing for your IV,” Makoto said, twisting his hands in the hem of his green scrubs. Nearly everything in this hospital was green or gentle yellow; color theory claimed it had a calming effect. “Oh, and I... I brought you your lunch.”

            He slid Haru’s bedshelf into his lap, followed by a warm tray of salted mackerel and lemon. This was the only thing Haru would touch, now, aside from water. Makoto placed a glass of it beside the meal.

            Years ago, Haru had told him that the source of the vitality surging through humans was the great life-giver, water, which flowed in their blood. But Haru’s blood was too much alive; the malignance in his veins and bones so strong Makoto swore he could feel its circulating thrum. He wanted to crawl into bed with Haru as he did at home, and press himself into him as he ate, but busied himself with the old tubes instead, balling them into the hazardous waste bin in the corner of the room. When he turned around, Haru had pushed his tray away.

            “Why are you here, Makoto?” he asked, his face stony. If sleep had been clouding Haru’s features before, he was now very awake.

            “I... thought I told you why, Haru,” Makoto cautiously answered. “Is something wrong with your food?”

            “No,” Haru responded, his voice turning harsh. “I want to know _why you’re here._ ”

            Makoto tried to force down the chill twisting his stomach. “I-I work here, Haru. You know that. I’m taking care of you, while you get treatment. So you can get better.” He immediately knew that he had chosen the wrong words. Haru’s eyes narrowed to slits as his face contorted into a scowl.

            “Are you an idiot?!” he demanded. Makoto averted his gaze, twisting the golden ring on his finger.

            “Haru, I’m sorr--”

            “So I can get ‘better’?” Haru hissed, balling his fists. “You are stupid, Makoto. There’s no donor, there is no getting BETTER! I’M GOING TO DIE! I’M DYING, MAKOTO! I’M DYING AND YOU CAN’T SAVE ME, SO WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU STILL HERE?!”

            “Haru!” Makoto tried, then ducked as Haru seized the photograph beside him and hurled it at his head. The glass shattered upon impact with the yellow wall at his back, clattering in pieces to the floor.

            “GET OUT!” Haru shouted, his voice a throaty wreck.

            “Haru, please calm down!” Makoto begged, rushing to him and holding him still. The rapid beeping of the monitor reverberated throughout the room as Haru thrashed beneath him. “You’ll pull out your IV, Haru, I know you’re in pain but please!”

            Haru’s next yell came out as nothing but a smothered cough. Makoto tried to steady him as tremors racked his body, but Haru continued to fight him until his body flagged with the wailing of his morphine alarm, falling back into bed sapped of energy. Makoto retrieved the ruined frame from the floor and set it on the table near the door despite itself, cutting his finger in the process. He put the hurt to his lips and slipped out of the room into the hallway, surrendering to his knees and sliding down the wall as soon as he was out of Haru’s range of vision. Makoto pulled his legs toward his chest and curled into himself, nursing his finger.

            He wasn’t stupid. Makoto knew what the oncologists had said, knew that short of a miracle there was nothing left to be done for Haru. He was fading away, but Makoto couldn’t say it. Maybe he couldn’t accept what was happening himself. The familiar pressure of Haru’s embrace descended around him, the nuzzle of his lips against his temple. Makoto squeezed his eyes shut and held himself closer, knowing if he opened his eyes he would be met with the tiled vacancy of the hall. He nearly missed the sneakered footsteps that came to a stop a few feet away.

            “Makoto?”

            Makoto raised his head as Rin bent down and cradled his injured finger, setting down his bag which probably held another bright decoration for Haru’s room. Rin pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at the blood still beading at the mouth of the wound. Makoto hated the sight of it; healthy blood that Haru’s body would never accept. He bit his lip.

            “Only two points,” Makoto whispered.

            “It’s not your fault, Makoto,” Rin sighed. “I’m not a match either.”

            Makoto let his eyes slide closed.

            “Did he do this too?”

            “..Not directly,” Makoto mumbled, nearly inaudible. “He’s just trying to cope.” He had learned all about that, in his first year of medical school.

            “Maybe he is,” Rin admitted, “but that’s not your fault either.” Makoto felt the tears he had been holding back finally spill over onto his cheeks, the drops hot and wet.

            “It feels like it is,” he sobbed, burying his face in the sleeve of Rin’s jacket and feeling Rin support the both of them against the plastered wall. “Why am I a nurse, Rin? Why am I doing any of this, if I can’t even heal him?”


	2. haruka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> let me do my job.  
> let me do my job.

_Makoto unlocked the door to the familiar smell of the rice cooker. Setting his coat on a stool, he warmed his hands in the steam rising from the lid of the little machine, his head swiveling left and right as he kicked snow from the hem of his scrubs._

_“Haru?” Makoto called. “The rice is almost done.”_

_“In here,” a voice drifted from the adjacent room._

_Makoto peeked around the corner to find a well-proportioned quilt-and-clothespin fort constructed between the table and the television. One of the corners lifted--the entrance, Makoto presumed--and out emerged the familiar face of a fluffy white cat. Haru’s head and shoulders followed a moment later._

_“What’s the password?” One of Haru’s eyebrows formed a near-imperceptible arch._

_“Moge?” Makoto guessed. Haru silently raised the quilt high enough for him to enter. Makoto crawled into the warmth of the fort and let his eyes adjust to the diffused light within. Haru settled back against the pillows lining the floor._

_“Do you like it?” He wiggled one of Makoto’s toes._

_“What are you doing to our daughter?” Makoto scooped up the little cat and deposited her just outside the blanketed walls before turning his eyes to the space heater by the wall. “That’s a fire hazard, you know.”_

_“It’s cold,” was Haru’s only reply. Makoto couldn’t argue with that, so he settled for rolling in next to Haru and nestling into the curve of his neck._

_One of Haru’s hands came to rest on his back. “You smell like hospital.”_

_Makoto threw a leg over Haru and took a whiff of his hair. “You smell like chlorine.”_

_“I know.”_

_“I like it,” Makoto whispered as he let Haru undress him._

_Haru tugged him closer, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I know that too.”_

+++++

_Makoto found himself comfortably warm after they made love, swathed in blankets and surrounded by dinner’s dirty dishes as Haru poured cheap wine into paper cups. The low hum of the television had nearly lulled him to sleep when Haru tipped a cup to his lips. Haru swept a stray drop from his chin when he accepted the cup with both hands._

_“I should clean up,” Makoto said suddenly, sitting up. Haru gently pushed him back down._

_“I’ll do it later. You work too hard. Let me take care of you,” Haru said, setting his cup down to open Makoto’s blankets and sliding in next to him. Makoto shivered at the touch of Haru’s bare skin and pulled the covers tighter around the two of them._

_“You work hard, too,” Makoto mumbled. “How was practice today?”_

_Haru pressed his nose to Makoto’s cheek. “My times are going up. My coach can’t figure it out. He’s worried.”_

_“Mm?” Makoto turned to Haru. “Are you worried?”_

_“I’m fine,” said Haru, his eyes slipping closed. Makoto carded his fingers through Haru’s bangs, letting his palm rest flat on his forehead._

_“You’re warm. Are you sick again?” Makoto flipped his hand over to use the other side. Haru just shrugged. “This is the second time this month, right? You should take some supplements.”_

_“I’m fine,” Haru said again with a yawn._

_He was asleep on Makoto’s shoulder just a few minutes later, leaving Makoto with but the television for company. Makoto relaxed under Haru’s weight and concentrated on the slow rhythm of his breath. He had noticed Haru wasn’t sleeping well lately, and was thankful to see him looking so_

          serene in spite of the gleaming cannula adorning his face like so much glass. Makoto didn’t think he could face Haru while he was awake; yesterday, when Haru had maxed out his morphine allowance, and Makoto heard his name twist in Haru’s mouth as he shrieked in pain, he had fled and hid downstairs until the orderlies sent to calm him returned. He hadn’t seen Haru’s eyes open since.

          Makoto lowered himself down next to the bed, anticipating a leap in the ECG as he squeezed the hand lain before him, but Haru didn’t react, his breathing shallow and even.

          “Haru-chan,” Makoto rasped, mouth suddenly dry. “You don’t like to talk to me, but...Nagisa said that maybe you’d listen to me while you slept, so...”

          “Makoto.”

          Makoto glanced up to find Haru staring at the bare wall beyond his feet. He swallowed hard, tasting disinfectant. “Were you awake?”

          Haru said nothing.

          “I--I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me.” Coward. “Everyone’s coming to visit you tomorrow. I’ll be here the whole day.” Haru was silent. “My shift is over, so...we could sleep together, if you don’t--”

          “Makoto.” Haru had turned his face away. “It would be better if you left.”

          Makoto let the silence hang, rubbing his thumb over the matching ring Haru wore. “...Okay. I can go back to the apartment tonight.”      

          Haru’s hand tensed in his grasp. “It would be better if you didn’t come back.”

          “No,” Makoto exhaled, gripping Haru a little harder. “I’m not going to leave you.”

          “Makoto.”

          “I know you don’t love me, now,” Makoto tried, pulling Haru’s wrist closer, “but please, let me take care of you. I’m never going to leave, and you can throw as many picture frames as you want at me, Haru, but you might love me again tomorrow, so please just let me do my--”

          He saw the sobs bubbling up from Haru’s chest before he heard them. Haru ripped his hand from Makoto’s grip, purple bruises already blooming where his fingers had been though his grip hadn’t been tight. Makoto wilted as he stood.

          “I’m sorry, I...” He was always doing something wrong. “I made you cry again. I’m sorry, Haru, I--I don’t know what I said--Haru...what is that, Haru?”

          There was a new orange bracelet on the arm Haru brought up to cover his face. Makoto knew the color, but... He left Haru alone like he wanted and ventured downstairs to find the copies of his hospital records.

          The yellow DNR form stood clearly against the deep blue of the thick manila folder holding Haru’s charts. Makoto caught his tears on his sleeve, tracing Haru’s measured penmanship above the signature line dated the day before.

          The witness had been far less deliberate, Makoto thought. Written with hasty, artless strokes, the line below bore the name _Matsuoka Rin_.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me [on tumblr](http://www.marinoxxycontin.tumblr.com/)~~


End file.
